


I Would Sing You to Sleep

by orphan_account



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Angst, M/M, Memories, POV Second Person, Suicide, ya'll gonna hate me again
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-13
Updated: 2014-04-13
Packaged: 2018-01-19 06:52:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1459999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You feel that you have his attention. “I’m sorry I took so long.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Would Sing You to Sleep

**Author's Note:**

> \- If I could be with you tonight  
> I would sing you to sleep  
> Never let them take the light behind your eyes  
> One day I’ll lose this fight  
> As we fade in the dark  
> Just remember you will always burn as bright -
> 
> I wanted to try my hand at 2nd Person POV and angst is the first thing I thought of.
> 
> i wholeheartedly blame [Amy](http://archiveofourown.org/users/jean_huh_kirschnickerdoodle/pseuds/jean_huh_kirschnickerdoodle) for this. and also [this](http://youtu.be/76WJJ57YoG0) song

You walk down the street in the cold, pouring rain, with your hands stuffed into the pockets of your soaked-through jeans. Your phone is no longer in your possession because you left it at the bar, but even if it were, it would be soaked and useless. But it was already useless—the only one you want to talk to won’t pick up.

The rain is loud on the buildings and on the street and sidewalk you walk on, and you’re skin is cold and wet. You’ve been crying for the past hour but there was no way to tell. The rain is good camouflage for depression.

Silently, you wonder what your sister is doing right now. She insisted she needed to stay home and study, so she was probably studying. You want to laugh as you think about the time you saw her watching Whose Line when she said she was going to be studying—the time she laughed so hard she had tears falling from her eyes—but you can’t laugh. Not like she had. Not like you did. Not like you used to.

You wonder what your best friend is up to. He’s most likely still trying to keep Reiner and Jean from belly-dancing on the bar top. Did he even know you left?

You have no idea where you’re going. You stare at the dirty puddles on the sidewalk beneath your feet. You can almost see your reflection, and you can almost see how disgusting you must look.

Thunder rumbles across the sky and you sniffle. The rain pounds on your back and you try to listen to it instead of the painful rhythm your heart is producing.

You’re depressed, and you feel the reason for your depression is stupid. You feel it isn’t even real depression because you’re able to paint on that false smile and force out that almost-laugh around the ones who care about you, the grins and giggles that don’t mean a thing to yourself.

Every day now feels like one full of rain and gray skies and loneliness since he left you. Naturally you never blamed yourself for the fights between the two of you, but you would never stop blaming yourself for this one. You both said things you weren’t proud of. You wish you could take them all back, but he won’t talk to you anymore.

 _“Why don’t you just fucking leave if you’re so unhappy!?”_ You remember screaming.

You remember him standing there, baffled that you would say such a thing. You remember that feeling of horrible regret bubbling up in your chest and how you tried to ignore it. You remember the hurt look in his eyes when he opened his mouth to speak. You remember how he didn’t say anything. You remember how you handed him his keys. You remember how he took them. You remember how he walked out the door. You remember how you expected him to slam the door shut and how you didn’t expect him to linger. You remember how he waited for you to take it back.

And you know you could have stopped him. But you didn’t. You were so upset. You were thinking of your own feelings, and how unhappy you were. But you were unhappy because you thought he was unhappy.

What you don’t remember is how that fight even started. You try not to think about that fight though. You like to remember the good times.

And you remember the first time you met him, back when you were thirteen and he was two years older than you. It was love at first sight; something you thought only existed in fairytales. You remember the first date you went on with him; the stares you got for being a boy on a date with another boy. You remember the way you tried to toss a piece of popcorn up into the air and catch it on your tongue, an how he snatched it out of the air and told you not to make a fucking mess.

You remember the first time he held your hand. You almost smile, thinking about how soft his hands had been and how warm they were. And you almost laugh, thinking about the reason he held your hand is because you didn’t want to get on the Farris wheel. You remember how scared you were when he stood up on the gondola and made it sway. You remember clinging to him the whole way back down, and how he didn’t seem to mind when you nuzzled your face into his shoulder.

You remember the first kiss you shared with him. It had been unconventional and at first was only meant to spite your sister, to show her you were more grown up than she thought. You were fourteen. How grown up could you possibly be at fourteen? Your lip quivers as you recall telling your sister that you were old enough to do things for yourself. You remember, right after saying those words, grabbing him by his collar and pressing your lips onto his. And you remember when you pulled away, the confused, flustered reflection of your own face in his eyes.

Mikasa used to bring that up a lot, and he would laugh, and Armin would grin, and you would blush furiously because you had kissed a sixteen year old boy on a school bus full of people.

You remember the first time he had touched you intimately. How you shuttered into his touch and felt the need to throw yourself into his arms, but move away all at once. You remember how gentlemanly he was, how he asked you if it was okay for him to touch you like that, and how you hesitated to tell him it was. You remember him waiting for you to become more comfortable with it. You were fifteen and he was seventeen. He knew you didn’t want to go very far and he had stopped at giving your neck soft kisses, careful not to leave marks.

You remember crying angrily because you weren’t “man enough” to take when he wanted to give you, and how you apologized, and how he told you that he would still be ready when you were. You remember telling Mikasa, and you also remember what a mistake that was. You remember how she had given him a long talk, mainly consisting of threats that were far from empty. You remember him telling her that he had no intention of hurting you. They had exchanged the same talk when he and you first started dating.

Looking up, you realize where you wanted to go. You wanted to see him. You wanted to throw yourself into his arms if you could, and apologize and cry and tell him you love him. And so, you keep walking.

You remember the first time he said he loved you.

It had been on a camping trip with a group of mutual friends between the two of you. Mikasa, Armin, Jean Kirschtein, and Annie Leonhardt came with you. You had met two of his friends before—Hanji and Erwin—and two others—Petra and Auruo—joined them on his side. Everyone got along really well, which made you happy.

You remember everyone sitting around the campfire and making s’mores. You remember his friend Hanji telling a scary story about giants and huge walls. You remember how Armin hugged Jean and Erwin’s arms closely during the story and how Mikasa and Annie listened as though the story was nothing. You remembered that you and he shared a tent and that you had squeezed into his sleeping-bag, lying that it was cold. But you knew that he was smart enough to catch your fibs by now.

You remember him pressing his lips to your forehead when sleep had almost pulled you under, and you remember the way his hushed voice tickled your forehead when he said the words. You remember snuggling closer to him—as if you hadn’t already been close enough—and repeating the words back. It was dark, but you knew he had been smiling.

As your feet hit soggy soil, you feel yourself beginning to cry again. It hurts to be here, because he was here. You don’t want to see him, but you do, and you want to tell him all of the things you didn’t get to tell him before he left you.

You remember the first time the two of you made love. You were sixteen and he was still two years older than you. You remember his concerned smile and soft smile as he pushed into you for the first time. You remember how you cried at first, and how slow he went, and how he brushed your hair out of your eyes. You remember asking him to stop, and how empty you felt when he pulled out. You remember curling up in his arms and sobbing because you felt bad. You remember him telling you it was okay, and that he could wait until you were ready. And you cringe at the pain you feel in your chest when you remember how you and he tried again a little while later. And you remember how gentle he was with you.

Choking on a sob, you wonder what he’s up to right now. You wonder if he would consider your apology and if he would take you back, or if he would reject you because you hurt him.

You remember when you were seventeen. You remember the time you had snuck out of your house because your mother and father were fighting and he was waiting for you a few blocks away. You remember how his black hair and grey-blue eyes contour and contrast with the deep orange tint coming from the sky. You remember how his fingers slid in between yours and how the hot summer air made your hands sweaty. You remember how he had a tendency to refrain from touching anything gross—meaning sweat—but how he didn’t pull his hand away from yours.

You remember him leading you to the cemetery and how his normally set poker-face changed into something you hadn’t seen prior. You had seen him smile, laugh, and smirk, but you had never seen him look so uncomfortable. No, you knew uncomfortable wasn’t the word. Sad—he was sad. You remember him squeezing your hand when he came to a stop, and you look down at the two stones at his and your feet.

You remember reading off the names _Isabel Magnolia-Church_ and _Farlan Church_. You remember seeing him try to smile and keep his tears back when he tells you they were his brother and sister that you would never get to meet. You remember letting go of his hand and telling him it’s okay to cry. And you remember he does.

You stop walking and you stare down at your feet, still thinking about him. He told you how they had died, and it hurts you to think about, but you do, because it’s his voice telling you.

Isabel and Farlan were his adoptive brother and sister and they were in love, at the young age of seventeen. He told you how they hurt because they couldn’t be together the way they wanted to, no matter how hard they tried and how hard they believed, because it was “wrong”. You recall him telling you he sprinted out of his lecture hall and to his car after they had called him, crying. How they had told him they loved him, but if they couldn’t be together then they didn’t want to live anymore. He told you they hung up before he could say anything.

He told you how he sped home, and how he had gotten there minutes too late. How he had run inside and upstairs to Isabel’s room where the Isabel lie in Farlan’s arms, a gun lying beside them. He told you how they had matching holes in their heads and how he cried over their dead bodies while he waited for the police to show up.

You remember him telling you that he told the stone makers Isabel’s stone had to have Farlan’s last name in it. He told you that it would make them happy, and that’s why he did it.

You remember how he tried to make a joke about how they were his own personal Romeo and Juliet, but he only cried. You remember holding him as he sobbed. You’d never seen him so broken until this moment, and you cried with him. You didn’t know what his pain felt like then, but you still cried with him.

Finally your feet stop moving and you know it’s time to talk to him.

“Levi?” You call out to him, your voice hoarse from crying and the cold you were most likely developing thanks to walking in the rain for so long. He doesn’t answer, but you know he can hear you. “I need to talk to you… I’m sure you’ve been waiting.” You’ve managed to stop sobbing, but the tears are still there. You don’t care enough to wipe them away.

You feel that you have his attention. “I’m sorry I took so long.”

You stand above where his stone is placed in the soggy ground while the rain pours over your head. You manage to crack a smile and you drop down to your knees because you feel you can no longer stand. You look to the side and see Farlan and Isabel’s stones, and you exhale because the three of them are together again.

They’re probably happy which is almost enough to make you happy.

“I should never have said what I did that night…”

_—“Levi Church, age twenty-one, was found dead in his apartment today…”—_

“It’s all my fault that you did this, and no matter what anyone else tells me, it will always be my fault…”

— _“…police investigation say it was planned suicide, as the door was locked, there were no signs of a struggle, and our victim sat comfortably in his bedroom with the gun he used to kill himself in his lap…”—_

Your eyes string with tears and you try not to sob too loud since you’re in the cemetery, but you want Levi to hear how sorry you are, and how disgusted you are with yourself.

“I—I would have… visited sooner, but… I couldn’t bring… bring myself to come see you… I wish I could take it all back…” Your fingers curl into the dirt beneath your hands and you cry over the stone. “I wish I could take it all back and just… see you alive… smiling… breathing…”

— _“…police found his cellphone in his other hand with an unsent text message…”—_

Shaking, you look at the ring you hadn’t dared to take off since he gave it to you, and not months later on the day he left you; the day when Hanji had called you, her voice a rough, choked whisper and you told her you already knew because Mikasa had woken you up to watch the news.

“If I wasn’t so… fucking… stubborn—” You can barely form the words. “—we… could still… and you would…”

— _“…the message was intended to go to the victim’s fiancé…”—_

“I…” You squeak and fold your arms over Levi’s stone, burying your face against them, and you sob so loudly that you feel it all down your body. You’re sure Levi can hear you. He would have his arms around you, stroking your hair, kissing your forehead, telling you that it’s okay. But now all he can do is listen. “I love you… so much… so, so much…”

— _“…the message had said ‘I love you, Eren. Don’t ever forget that. Please don’t cry about me anymore.’…”—_

“I can’t… it’s… it’s really hard to go on without you sometimes… I try not to think about you… but it’s so hard… and I think about you all the time… and… why did the last time I see you have to be at your funeral?! Why—why didn’t… you… you should have stayed… you should have told me I’m being a brat like, like you always do, and hugged me… or… yeah… and everyone would have been okay…”

You wish you could pull him into your arms and kiss him, but it’s virtually impossible, so you remain crouched over the headstone, letting the rain and mud soak through your clothes even more than they already have, and you just talk. You talk because you know he’s listening.

 _Levi Church—_ you know ‘Church’ isn’t his real last name— _1990-2012_ , you stare at the stone and choke out I love you’s until finally your voice gives out and you can’t talk anymore. He killed himself just over two years ago. He was no longer two years older than you.

It’s an hour before Armin finds you sitting in the rain in front of Levi’s headstone mouthing “I love you” as you twist the engagement ring around your finger.

“Eren,” He says to you and he crouches down beside you. You don’t look at him. “How long have you been here?”

You shrug. He helps you stand and he hooks his arm around your waist. “You’re soaking wet, Jesus Christ. Come on, let’s get you home and into dry clothes.”

The drive home is quiet and Armin has the heat on full blast to try and keep you warm. You continue to twist the ring around your finger until you get home. He helps you inside and Mikasa yells at you for what seems like ten minutes while Armin gets you dry clothes.

Every word she says bounces off of your skin. Armin gives you a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt that you take and go into your bedroom to change. When you join Armin and Mikasa in the kitchen, Armin is telling her where he had found you. Your sister doesn’t lecture you because she now knows you’re hurting. Armin must have told her you left without telling him, and that’s why she yelled at you before.

After you eat dinner with them and you can talk again, you hug them both and tell them you’re going to bed. As you snuggle into your bed, you see Armin left your phone on the dresser beside your bed, and you take the device in your hand.

Levi liked to sing and you liked his voice. You search through the recordings on your phone and find the ones you made of Levi singing to you. It had been a while since you listened to them and you feel like you’d forgotten what his voice sounds like. When the recording begins, you melt into his voice and feel your eyes fill with tears. You’re able to ignore the mild background noises and just focus on Levi singing to you. He sang your favorite song perfectly.

You allow yourself to cry again that night, but not because you’re sad. Because for the first time in a while, you drift off to sleep hearing his voice.

—

**Author's Note:**

> i like writing sad things every now and then because im an asshole.


End file.
